


Crude Rumours

by Airdanteine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Rumors, Tumblr: JayDick Flash Fanwork Challenge, jaydick-flashfic: amnesty, jaydick-flashfic: rumors and reputations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 05:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airdanteine/pseuds/Airdanteine
Summary: “Rumour has it, Dickie, that you've lost your ass.”





	Crude Rumours

Watching Nightwing fly was an honour of its own. 

The kid moved with a precise grace, dead dropping from great heights while wearing a smile so blinding white. Flipping and somersaulting with sheer strength and near impossible flexibility, practically dancing through the skies. That powerful body wrapped in shiny, tight lycra, all those cords of muscle, those delicious plush curves. 

That great ass.

Yeah, Slade was a creepy old man by many definitions. But he had to admit, the kid had a phenomenal tush.

Every opponent of Nightwing would agree. For example, Lady Shiva was standing next to him, leaning casually on sword. Eyes trained on the performance before her. Nightwing stood on top skyscraper, his back facing them. His impressive, fully-rounded behind. Shiva hummed, clearly impressed. Point made. 

Nightwing's head was turned towards a guarded rooftop, goons waving guns around in anxious anticipation. Without moment's notice, he catapulted into the air, dead dropping off the edge of the skyscraper. Practically parallel to the building, he tucked his body inwards, somersaulting through the air with seemingly zero regard to the impending doom below. A black cord whipped out in ripples before going taut–and with a joyous shriek, Nightwing swung up into the air, did more somersaults, and landed by kicking a goon in his gut. 

"Oh, I could just pluck him away," Lady Shiva purred, not even attempting to hide her, well, peaked interest. Slade could only grin.

"I'd put him in a glass-walled gymnasium. Watch him twirl all day," she spoke, as Nightwing literally twirled on top a henchman's head.

"He doesn't take to being trapped like that, Lady," Slade replied, possibly slightly self-critical in that comment. "He's a free bird."

"Ah, so free-range. I can manage." Shiva concluded, picking up her sword to move closer towards the edge of the roof they stood on. As Nightwing cleared the roof, he was moving out of sight.

"Who wishes to spoil his fun first?" Shiva cocked an eyebrows, foot already hovering off the edge. It was clear, it wasn't a question.

"Lady's first," Slade smiled, and then they were off, grapples shot and swinging forward. Slade kept his distance, instead swinging to a nearby balcony, high enough for a bird's eye view. Shiva was already going for the kill, sword trained towards a busy Nightwing. 

Slade did a little whistle. Shiva looked up at him. Nightwing perked up, and saw her.

Fight ensued. Slade had to admit, Nightwing's fighting wasn't as graceful, if you omit his twirling kicks and unnecessary somersaults. However, when faced with a sword, a weapon based in dancer-like artistry, Nightwing shone. 

The kid dodged, the first time with a stumble, the second with a backbend. Twirling kicks, answering slashes, and so the dance began. Nightwing teased and chased her across the rooftop like an aggressive tango. He was smiling, those perfect pearly whites, and it became unclear if Lady Shiva was enjoying this or getting increasingly frustrated. The kid had that effect. 

The pair began to dance closer to the other end of the roof. Slade cracked his knuckles. His time to play. 

He dropped down to deliver a Nightwing-style kick to Shiva's face, quickly swerving around to deck Nightwing's too. It connected–a second villain must have been a surprise. At advantage, he took another jab to the chest, and...he did not budge.

Nightwing smiled.

Slade was on his back before he knew it, and whoa, he knew the kid's kicks were vicious, but when was he that strong? Slade got up on his elbows as soon as he could, to witness an angry, head-bleeding Shiva reach for her sword. 

Slade scrambled forward, still winded. Nightwing raced to step on the sword, but Shiva pulled it to quick. Slade sprung himself onto her. Shiva screeched, swinging the sword wildly. Towards Nightwing.

A squelching stab. Slade grimaced, willing himself to look at the damage. 

The sword was stuck in Nightwing's ass. 

Slade looked at Nightwing. Nightwing looked at Shiva. Shiva looked at the wound, which was surprisingly...not bloody. Shiva pulled her sword out. 

A clear liquid ran from it, along with a noticeable deflation.

"No," Slade whispered, dumbstruck. He didn't even notice Nightwing leaping away, and Lady Shiva connecting her fist to his temple. Even a concussion-induced vertigo would not be as mind-bending as reality itself, right then.

Nightwing's ass was a lie. 

~

A rock skipped across cement.

It puttered in fading patterns, coming to a skidding stop. Then another was skipped. Then another.

Talia ticked her finger against the surface of her binoculars, refraining from a sigh. 

"Slade," Talia stated, jaw firm and voice sharp. "Stop it."

Another rock skipped.

Talia took a moment to look at him, the once delicious daddy of an assassin now sat splayed on a rooftop. Give him some Doritos and a Mountain Dew, and the image would be complete. Talia had no idea what brought this on, but he'd popped out of nowhere and made her his therapist.

"I just can't believe it," Slade sighed, resting his chin on an elbow. Talia made that sigh and returned to her vigilance.

"I mean, Robin's always had a great ass." Talia sputtered at that, practically freezing as the mother in her balked. Her Robin? Her boy? Did she need to kill Slade now? She'd need to kill him now. She should be already–

"The first Robin, not the current one," Slade clarified, and Talia relaxed. Then immediately still felt a little disturbed, even if it's one of her beloved's fake sons. 

"He had an amazing butt ever since I first met him in those scaly panties, Talia," Slade bemoaned, and Talia could only imagine that his eyes were currently glazed over in memory.

"Slade, you are a creep," Talia stated. And mentally noted. 

"Yes. But you understand my point. My–the boy, most certainly has and always had a full, round ass. But," Slade paused, then _sniffled_ , for hell's sake. 

"What are you suggesting, Slade."

"That, how can it be a lie? How can it all be a lie? I feel like...the world has shifted beneath me. A constant, erased. It's just not right, Ta-" 

"Well I see what you mean," Talia spoke as she adjusted the zoom of her binoculars, zeroing in on the flying boy in question. 

"Do you see him?" Slade was immediately darting towards her, only to suddenly retract back. "No, I don't want to see him. I never want to see him."

"Are you sure?" Talia asked, her interest finally piqued. There was Dick Grayson, pretty boy of the superhero community, with his ass facing her. Most certainly, most positively–

"Flat. His ass is flat," Talia grinned. The scandal. Oh, what a thing to taunt her beloved with. She took a few snapshots with the binoculars, shifting about for different angles. She turned towards Slade, only to (gleefully) witness sheer horror on Slade's face. Talia pointed the binoculars at him, zoomed out, and took a snapshot. You have to love high tech.

"Chin up, Slade. The boy will fill it up with botox again, and that ass will be just fine," Talia patted Slade's shoulders, before swinging away.

~

"Beloved."

"Talia." Bruce grunted, pressing his ear to the phone as he rubbed his eyes. A pair of squinting eyes appeared to his right. She could wait. "Make it quick."

"We need to talk about your first son's ass."

He hung up.

~

It's more than often when Barbara helps out with the more...morally ambiguous in Gotham. It's less often now for her, as Oracle, to be right in the line of fire.

A scythe slashed through the air, next to some intensely important computer cables. Vines followed it, and managed to pierce the wall.

"Sorry about this," Selina spoke, currently perched on her keyboard.

"Oh, it's no problem, really," Barb replied flatly, as a red and blue mallet came close to decking her in the head. 

"Well we came here ta tell you somethin'!" Harley exclaimed, before landing a clear wack on Scarecrow. Yes, the highly dangerous, poison gas welding Scarecrow. 

"Oh, do tell," Barb could only reply.

"Well this, 'Talia Al-Ghul' person showed up out of nowhere at our home," Ivy yelled as she wrapped Scarecrow in her vines. His scythe skittered across the floor, which Selina reached to pick up. And continued to sit on her keyboard.

"You know, Talia," Selina spoke, with a hint of pride.

"Yeah, I know."

"You know, Batman's ex."

"Yep."

"Who I beat."

"I know," Barb lifted her glasses to rub at her eyes. 

"Well, this Talia figa' gave us the heads up that the old docta' was out," Harley informed as she finished the Scarecrow with a old-fashioned punch. Barb felt herself relax, though only by a margin. 

"And we'd arrived at his location in time. Suspiciously so," Ivy squinted at Scarecrow, who was passed out with his tongue lolling. 

"Yeah, I sincerely don't think Scarecrow would be this er," Barb gestured at the scythe, "underequipped. Especially if he was planning to escape."

"You're suggesting Talia made us chase him around?" Selina scratched her head, frowning 

"Yeah. For what though?" Barb mused. Finally, a mystery that perks her interest.

"Right, that. Talia had told us something. Something that may concern er, _your_ ex," Selina placed a clawed arm on Barb's shoulder, eyes heavy. Barb frowned. The only of her exes Talia gives a shit about would be...Dick. 

"Shit. Dick and I...he's not been talking to me lately," Barb bit her lip, feeling all her worst fears cumulate. What did Dick do? What did Talia want? What did Talia do to–

"Listen to me Barb. Just listen to me." 

"Okay." Barb closed her eyes, readying for the worst.

"Nightwing has lost his ass."

Barb blinked.

The Gotham Sirens broke out in laughter, and Barb found herself joining in too. 

"Sorry," Barb blurted, mid-giggle. "Sorry _what_?" 

"Tha' blue boy apparently busted his butt botox," Harley supplied, then animatedly mimed her ass exploding.

"She has these pictures of Nightwing with a uh, unfortunately flat ass," Ivy winced, extending a vine to Barb and dropping the photographs on her lap.

"Oh god," Barb flipped through them, all different angles of what was absolutely a much smaller, squarish, flatter ass. Though, Barb noted, as she checked his thighs, that they were considerably beefier. Rather thick and, honestly a great pair of thighs.

Barb smacked her head.

"What?" Selina purred, practically smelling the secret. Barb waved noncommittally.

"So, do you think Talia thought you'd go to Batman with this info first?" Barb asked, deflecting.

"I guess. But I'm not gonna gloat about his son's ass to the man I left at the altar, thank you."

"Nah, we'd gloat it ta you!" Harley threw her hands in the air, jumping excitedly.

"Damn straight, sister," Ivy was addressing Barb, but her eyes were clearly on Harley, and--okay, there they go, smashing their faces together. Alright then. 

That aside, Barb, the Oracle, now had some juicy, juicy information.

"Okay," Barb cracked her fingers. She wheeled around to face her desk. Time to spread some rumours.

Selina blinked at her, still sitting on her goddamn keyboard.

"Get off, you cat."

~

Tim was benched. It sucked.

The batfamily–yes the whole one, with recently estranged Dick and always estranged Jason, Kate, Helena and all, had some family bonding time with Bane. Tim now had a pleasant leg fracture. It sucked.

Tim shifted around in his seat, ass sore. It didn't help that the Bat Chair, the one and only, was hard as hell. It also didn't help that he was sitting around on his bony ass all day. Tim wondered, what if he had an ass like Dick's. Rounder. Fuller. Possibly more cushy to sit on. 

"RR," Oracle's voice crackled through the Bat Computer comms. Tim reached forward to flick a switch, enabling voice exchange.

"Yeah O?"

"How's the leg?"

"Sucks. Wish I had N's ass. Might make the sitting around better." 

"Yeah, I bet N wishes he had his ass right now." 

Tim frowned. Blinked. Frowned more.

"Sorry, what?" 

"RR, N's in Gotham, within reach of Bat Drones. I'll give you his current coordinates." Sounds of keyboard typing ensued. Tim opened the messaging program, confused. 

"Why don't you just stream me your visual?" Tim asked as he received the coordinates and found the nearest drone to it. 

"Oh, you need to see this for yourself," Barb's voice dripped with glee. Tim was officially concerned.

He activated the drone, flying it closer to the given coordinates. Tim didn't even need to scan–there Dick was, performing stunt after stunt. 

"Zoom in closer to his ass."

"What?"

"Did I stutter?" Barb teased, and Tim humoured it, only since the command was kinda hot. Was Barb too old for him? She wasn't too old for him. A six year age difference isn't _that_ old--

'There is a rumour, RR," Barb spoke as Tim flew the drone closer to Dick's ass, and zoomed in.

"That Nightwing's lost his ass."

Tim squinted. Shifted the drone around. Zoomed out. Zoomed back in.

"Oh my god," Tim gasped, seeing moonlight outline a most certainly not-round, flat ass. Tim flew the drone a little further away, taking it all in.

"Wait a minute," Tim whispered. Dick seemed so suddenly...bulkier. Wider. Less curvy and more stocky. Hair shorter, curly but closer to the head. Face shape, square and firm, slight underbite. Thighs...like tree trunks. Hell, that was a damn fine pair of thighs.

Tim shut his eyes and prayed for strength.

"Check your mail," Barb's voice startled him back to reality, and Tim complied, honestly a little too tired for the world. 

"Is this…" Tim flipped through the gallery of photos, all different angles of "Dick's" ass. 

"Yep. And I'm sure you've just got, tonnes of shots of Dick's ass in full glory in your database, RR." Tim looked up at that, sensing something a little...nostalgic about this.

"You're the photo boy. You do the magic," Barb quipped, before turning off her comm feed. Tim laid back in his chair, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Oh, he'd have some fun with this.

~

Vicki was in Bruce's bed. Once again

She kneaded and knotted an end of his black silk sheets. She noted how it was thinner since she last saw it, a lighter version to match the coming of summer. 

She wrung the implications of this discovery through her mind, just as she did with the sheets. 

A small grunt from Bruce. A warning before she felt a rough hand sneak below her thighs, cup her ass, and push her closer. It wasn't too gentle a shove-her hands landed on her chest, the rest of her body being manhandled closer to him. Once her body was finally aligned to his, he gave another grunt, patted her ass, and that was that.

Vicki pressed her lips together, killing a smile.

Hands still on his chest, she let a finger trace his collarbone, scars decorating it like tiger stripes. A dip in the bone, where there shouldn't be. Vicki didn't buy the “sports accident” crap, what with how several scars next to his neck resembled knife stabs. She could, but decided not to dig into it though, which is probably why she was in bed with him more than once. Twice. Vicki supposed, Bruce somehow trusted her, a sensationalist, yellow journalist, to keep her inquisitive side at bay.

She wondered if he had scars on his ass. He's never let her near his ass. She wanted to check out dat ass.

“Hey are there scars on your-”

“s'tht yer phn?” Bruce mumbled, lips pressed against a pillow. A faint buzz from beneath his head.

“Oh,” Vicki reached under his pillow to procure her phone, screen bright and filled with notifications.

“It's work,” she informed, fingers swiping open email after email.

“It 4am,” Bruce groaned, palms pressed to ears.

“Yep,” Vicki's bleary eyes noted an unfamiliar email address, the lack of body text, and the 20 image attachments of...Nightwing? A few were photos edited together like tabloid comparisons, the left side showing a older pic (date denoted by the number “April 14, 2019” in bright red Helvetica font) of Nightwing's...rump, the other a pic of said rump taken yesterday, multiple red lines circling it with great fervency.

Nightwing's ass was definitely smaller.

“Oh wow,” Vicki spoke, speechless. As in mouth open, hands hovering. The scandal. Vicki was a sensationalist columnist who delved into Gotham high society gossip and this news...

Well superheroes weren't her beat but hot damn, this was juicy. 

Though, opportunity aside (for Vicki, a shocking thought), she felt...betrayed. That perfect round ass, that recognisable rump that alone matched the first adult Robin to Nightwing, now exposed as nothing but a botched butt job.

“Shouldn't have gotten the silicone, Nightboy.”

“You'd know,” Bruce spoke, half asleep. He must have processed something though, for his eyes suddenly shot open, and he moved to sit up.

“You read my article?” Vicki gasped, pulling her phone away as Bruce reached for it. Bruce Wayne. Reading her articles. Vicki's insides began to feel gooey.

“What was on that phone,” Bruce ignored her, because the sweet Brucie Wayne was a grouchy douche in the sheets. Dick.

“Did you read my article?” Vicki waggled the phone from an arms length away. She could see his eyes narrow, assessing his next move.

“Yes, your one good longform on harmful silicone implants from Gotham dives, sure. Can you give me that phone.”

“You think my articles are good???” Vicki exclaimed, then shortly consumed by 250 pounds of Bruce as he dove for her phone. Vicki hadn't an inkling of why he cared so much, and nor did she worry, Brucie didn't kiss and tell. Though, given that if that "Talia" was that Al-Ghul villain lady from months back, and if her crazy, ridiculous hunch was right...Bruce might be off the bed in two minutes.

Vicki savoured the moment, freeing an arm to cup his ass. 

“Yesss,” Vicki quietly cajoled, feeling a long, prominent ridge run beneath both left and right cheeks. Vickie frowned, tracing the stitches.

“What the fuck,” Bruce softly spoke, sounding breathless. Neither Brucie nor Bed Bruce swore, so that was a surprise.

“Three, two,” Vickie whispered to herself, and at one, he got off her, and the bed entirely. Vicki sighed, catching her phone as he tossed it to her, along with last night's clothes.

“Don't kill my source,” Vicki called after Bruce who answered with a grunt. She didn't know if this was the assuring grunt, or the noncommittal grunt.

Whatever. Her photog caught some pictures of Bruce's behind in swimming trunks. She'll make a headline out of this, somehow.

~

Dick had enough.

If he thought being bedridden by Bane was already bad enough, he was completely, utterly proven wrong. 

There he was, in bed, phone in hand, reading Vicki fucking Vale's column on "The Wealthy, The Just and The Silicone: Gotham's Botched Butts". Granted, it was more an informative article warning against the harms of illegal and unsafe silicone implants, but there it was...his real ass in a Nightwing suit, compared to the uh, recent Nightwing's ass. Circled in red. Repeatedly.

And Bruce's rump too. In swimming trunks. With an ass scar. An image Dick will never unsee.

"Y'ello. Done with 'nother night of twirly ass kickin'," came a snark through the window. Dick frowned as he faced a shit-eating grin. 

"Jason," Dick curtly stated, signaling his aura of I'm-fucking-fed-up. Jason raised a hand as he peeled off his domino, grin still in place. Dick.

“B is blowing up my phone," Dick stated, pointing at his notification menu filled to brim with texts from Bruce. 

“Yeah, that's what I love talking about post-patrol. The old man." Jason ruffled his hair, shaking and wringing out the moussed curls. Dick sighed. He had worked on those for _hours_. Whatever. Back to matter at hand.

“He asked if I, and I quote, ‘took out your implants’ and ‘did it when you were 15, you reckless child, I thought you spent that $400 on Takis,’” Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, beyond tired.

“Oh my god.” Jason chuckled, clearly suppressing a guffaw.

“‘If you wanted butt implants, you could have asked me,’” Dick continued as he scrolled down the chat, reliving the embarrassment. “Two minutes later, he added ‘you don't know what I've done.’”

“I knew it!" Jason cajoled as he dropped on the bed next to him, scooting closer to read the rest. Well, at least his hair smelled nice. "I bet it's in his forehead. No man frowns that much and has it that smooth.”

“Nope." Dick switched back to the article, and handed him the phone.

"Pfft, wow, strong reaction to my 'flat ass'. Hey, I tried with those water butt pads, but it got stabbed," Jason grinned, hand hovering over those damn photos of their asses. Dick noted something...wrong with his tone. "I still look good tho! At least my thighs do." Dick frowned. Yes, something's wrong.

"Scroll down," Dick spoke, deciding to just bury his face in nice smelling mousse curls.

"Oh." Jason stilled, body stiff.

"Yep." Dick wrapped a hand around Jason, spooning what is essentially a human heater.

"Yeah I wanna unsee that. Now."

"What you should do is, get out of that, get in the shower." Dick drew circles on Jason's chest, equipped with a plan to better the night.

"Then what?" Dick could practically feel him wiggling his eyebrows.

"Then, you come back here, and you suck my cock," Dick commanded. Jason let out a small gasp.

"Because I deserve it," Dick continued.

"Yessir," Jason replied, breathy.

"One more thing. Give me your ass."

"Uh," Jason hummed as he turned towards Dick, letting the latter cup his ass.

"It's not _that_ flat, is it?" Jason sounded bored, but this level of Gotham-wide ass-shaming would take its toll, irregardless of thick skin.

"It's small. It's not flat though. It's firm, it's square, and it's pretty damn cute," Dick spoke, truthfully. Dick could feel a smile form against his forehead.

"Besides," Dick continued, reaching further down to feel up Jason's thighs. "You have these beasts anyway. Best in Gotham."

"That's what Vicki said," Jason stated, and there was that pride again. Jason back in action. 

"Please don't tell me what Vicki said," Dick groaned as Jason rose from his side, walking to the shower.

"She said it's 'Gotham's finest'."

"Please stop."

"That she 'wouldn't mind riding those ponies.'"

"Go and bathe so you can suck my cock!" Dick threw a pillow at Jason, who promptly disappeared into the bathroom.

Fuck these crude rumours. Their asses were fine just the way they are.


End file.
